


Little Wonders

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Tension, Pre-Canon, Rating May Change, Terok Nor (Star Trek), Tiny Bashir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: In the days of Terok Nor, Garak receives a surprise responsibility: a tiny human that Odo confiscated from a trader. Despite himself, he is charmed by his miniature companion and makes a place for him in his home. And his heart.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63





	1. Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and lyrics at the beginning of each chapter from the song “Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas.  
> \---  
> Remember the angsty bubblegum I mentioned?  
> I've found a way to deal with my OCD for now; this fic has short chapters, so I can update whenever I feel the need to post something. It's not super serious, but you know I can't avoid angst, so it'll bounce back and forth between cuteness and feelings. Possibly some tension as well, because this IS Julian and Garak we're talking about, and sharing quarters can be pretty intimate. (But don't worry, nothing will *really* happen between them until the Federation moves in and fixes things)

_Let it go  
_ _Let it roll right off your shoulder  
_ _Don't you know_  
 _The hardest part is over_

Elim Garak stared incredulously into the open strongbox he found in his hands. “Just what in Cardassia’s blazing sands am I supposed to do with this?!”

“That’s a new one,” Constable Odo said mildly. “Do you spend your free time inventing new epithets that dishonor your ancestors?”

The (temporary) tailor eyed him. “I don’t know what you can possibly expect me to do with… with… Take it back!” He thrust the box out, but the changeling somehow angled himself to not be touched without ever shifting his feet.

“Look, my hands are full enough as it is with station security. I can’t exactly give it to _Quark,_ because he’d probably sell it; I don’t think you’d want it going to _Dukat,”_ they both shared a knowing, almost sympathetic look, “and none of the Bajorans need the additional responsibility. You’re the only option left.”

Garak frowned. “What about your Dr. Mora? He’s no stranger to scientific curiosities.”

When the constable went still, he went _still._ His expression froze, his eyes didn’t blink, even his imitation at breathing came to a halt. But he roused himself quickly and shook his head. “No, that’s not the best idea. He may… choose to run a few tests, but he’s also fond of… experimentation.” Was it possible for a changeling to shiver?

“What? No!” A tiny voice erupted from inside the box as a small form unfolded itself from the floor to bound up in indignation. “I’m a Human _,_ not a science project!” They looked down. It was difficult to tell, seeing as the creature was so small, but his eyes appeared to water up. “I’m not a science project,” he said more quietly.

Despite swearing off sentimentality, Garak felt something stir and twinge in his chest. The Constable seemed affected, too. His hard expression softened. “No sentient being should be,” he answered quietly. When he regarded the Cardassian, he was practically begging. “Please, Garak.”

The tailor sighed. “Fine. But this cannot be a permanent solution. You need to find another caretaker. Soon. What do I even feed it?”

“I’m not an _it!”_ The little Human yelped, hands on hips. “I eat food, same as you. The trader only gave me scraps of leftovers, so I’d really appreciate something whole, even if it’s replicated. I don’t care if it’s Bajoran or Cardassian or even Klingon, as long as it isn’t covered in bite marks and green saliva!” He dropped his hands. “Well, maybe not Klingon. The gagh worms might try to eat me if they’re fresh. Although _some_ of them don’t have teeth, so maybe if I just had one, I could make it into a pet or something. But then…” he continued blabbing on and on, but more to himself at this point, and the decibels dropped low enough that they couldn’t hear him clearly anymore.

Just his luck. As a youngster, Garak’s first pet had been a regnar. Majestic, independent, subtle. Silent. _This_ , however, was promising to be the absolute opposite. He was still going on, pacing back and forth, hands gesticulating energetically.

Both creatures did have one thing in common, Garak realized: both had been strictly forbidden to keep, and he still decided to keep them anyway.


	2. Bare Necessities

_Let it in_   
_Let your clarity define you_   
_In the end_   
_We will only just remember how it feels_

The Human paced the perimeter of his new home, a spare tubegrub terrarium that Garak had “liberated” from Quark’s storage room. The floor was carpeted in luxurious Bohesian shag, the table was a small box that currently had no other use, and the bed was Garak’s very own extra-long pincushion, minus the wrist strap, draped with a thick swatch of Andorian cotton for a blanket.

“It’s, er, very nice,” he said unconvincingly. 

“You’re actually quite lucky; I’m the only resident on this station with access to such quality textiles,” Garak commented uncharitably. “Anybody else, and you’d still be sleeping on the cold metal of that box, and with no furnishings to speak of.”

He watched the figure plop down on the bed and gaze upward, attempting and failing a thankful smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, I appreciate your effort. It’s just that… I seem to be lacking some very essential, ah… necessities.” At the sight of a blank face, he elaborated. “I need to use the refresher.”

The regnar had been so much easier.

Just run a scoop through the sand, or change it out altogether.

That, unfortunately, was not an option this time around.

“What did the trader do when you were in his possession?”

The Human frowned. “He gave me a transtator cap.” His nose wrinkled up in distaste. “And never changed it out. I had to keep it covered just to hide the smell.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. “You’re too small for the waste extractor. What do you suggest?”

“Honestly, I can’t think very well with a full bladder. I’ve been holding it for 16 _hours_ now. Could you just carry me to a sink or something?”

Garak reached his hand out and then thought better of it. He wasn’t at all sure how to carry a miniaturized Humanoid safely or appropriately. Instead, he hoisted the entire habitat up and carried it to the refresher. But that still left the question of getting the little man out. Reluctantly, he set his hand down, palm up, on the floor of the space. The occupant hopped on eagerly and crossed his legs, then tumbled over almost immediately as Garak lifted him out. More slowly, he lowered the creature into the basin. 

“Thanks!”

Garak stepped out of the room and gave it a full two minutes before returning. “Are you finished?” he called into the room without looking. 

“Yes! I’ve been done!” 

Stepping in, his eyes were drawn down. The impertinent little figure was trying to climb out of the sink, but kept sliding down the curved slope. All evidence of his previous activity was, thankfully, absent. What were they going to do when _other_ bodily functions made their appearance? Garak could feel a headache coming on.


	3. Getting to Know You

_Our lives are made,_   
_In these small hours_   
_These little wonders_   
_These twists and turns of fate_

“My name’s Julian.”

At least, that’s what it sounded like through the mouthful of mashed _erva_. How could a 12cm Humanoid put away so much food? There were dozens of tiny fist-sized chunks missing from various items across the entire Cardassian dinner plate.

Garak watched him half lie down to rub his face on the proportionally humongous napkin. He couldn’t decide if it looked amusing or obscene. “Are you going to tell me how you ended up in such a predicament, Mr. Julian?”

It looked like the little man was going to correct the name, but then shook his head and answered the question. “Just as I was getting ready to graduate Starfleet Academy, some… information about my past was uncovered. I was kicked out. I decided to try exploring the quadrant on my own, and met some unsavory characters. One of them thought it would be amusing to shrink me.” He shrugged and stared at his hands. “Not a terribly interesting story, I’m afraid.”

Also not the full story. Whoever he was, it was obvious he was hiding something, and Garak vowed to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible. 

“What about you, Mr. Garak?”

“Oh, it’s just Garak. Plain, simple, Garak.” What should he say? It probably didn’t matter, seeing as they wouldn’t be acquainted for long. “What did Constable Odo tell you?”

Julian folded himself up into an improbable knot. “That you claim to be a tailor but there’s more to you than meets the eye. That you’re very intense and sarcastic but also intelligent and well-read. Possibly dangerous. Personally, I think he admires you.”

“He told you all that?” 

Another shrug. “We had some time to talk while he ran scanners over me.”

“Scanners? What for?” He certainly didn’t look very dangerous.

“To make sure I’m actually organic and not a robot. To check for any hidden weapons or recording devices.” He glanced down at himself. “I’m not sure where he thought they’d be concealed.”

Garak found himself grinning. “Odo can be a little paranoid at times. ‘Better safe than sorry’ is one of his mantras.” He eyed the Human. “And dangerous items can be very _very_ small.”

Julian crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not dangerous. I’m not even full-sized.” He raised his eyebrows as his mouth dropped open in a huge yawn. “And I’m definitely too tired.” His shoulders drooped as he turned to face the terrarium. “I don’t suppose you’d let me sleep on the sofa instead?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t need you getting stuck between the cushions or lost in my quarters.” Who knows what sort of mischief a Starfleet-trained mind in a hand-sized body could get into.

“I wouldn’t _go_ anywhere. I just… don’t like the idea of being locked up in a small space with no exit.”

Garak could secretly empathize with that, although he’d never admit it. “For tonight, you’re staying in your new home. We’ll discuss alternatives tomorrow.” He held his hand out and was thankful that Julian climbed aboard without further complaint.

As soon as he was deposited, the miniature Human stared back up plaintively. “What if I need to use the refresher in the middle of the night?”

Garak sighed. “Hold on.” He heaved the terrarium off the counter and carried it to his nightstand. “Then bang on the glass and I’ll wake up.”

Julian pasted himself to the side and studied the tailor’s bedroom. “We’re not going to bed just yet, are we? It’s not even 1900.” 

“I’m not. You are.” Garak shut off the light.


	4. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember who's writing this, right?  
> Here, have some angst.  
> CW: mention of hospitals and mental disability (Julian's background)

_Time falls away_   
_But these small hours_   
_These small hours still remain_

Garak sat down at his console and went to work. It wasn’t too hard to evade the Cardassian military’s electronic lockdown of Terok Nor, and soon he was perusing Federation news sources.

There was nothing to be found about Humans getting themselves shrunk (he hadn’t really expected there to be, but it was worth a check), and none of the advertised fugitives even remotely resembled the being in his custody.

Getting information from Starfleet to verify Julian’s story would be a little trickier. He’d most likely have to make use of a few contacts to conduct the research for him; as skilled as he was at hacking, accessing the Federation’s notorious university network and archives would be next to impossible.

On a whim, he looked up the Federation calendar and ran a quick search for a few key terms: Julian, Starfleet Academy, and June. 

To his surprise, several tabloids popped up immediately. “Human Augment Uncovered.” “Top-Ranking Starfleet Cadet Outed as Genetically Engineered.” “Julian Bashir: the next Khan Noonien Singh?” The pictures were unmistakable; they may have been more exuberant and optimistic than what he’d seen so far, but they were definitely a match.

The unexpected discovery threw Garak for a loop. He hardly knew what to do with the information presented to him.

His first thought was that the Human had been sent to Terok Nor as a spy.

Which was patently ridiculous and therefore discarded as quickly as it appeared. It wasn’t as if Julian’s identity and abilities were a secret anymore. And how much espionage could really be conducted by someone with such limited size?

But still, how _did_ he come to be there?

Garak marched back to his bedroom and tapped on the lights. “Mr. Bashir, I presume?”

Julian was curled up in the corner of his tank, knees up to his chest and face buried. A tear-streaked face rose from the bundle and blinked rapidly.

Garak was abruptly reminded of another little boy, huddled miserably in a dark closet, alone and ashamed. 

“That was fast.” The voice was muffled by the glass terrarium. 

The tailor sat down on the bed to hear better. “The information is readily available to anyone with a screen, my dear. I hardly had to search at all.”

“What are you going to do with me now?” Julian waited warily, expression only a little afraid, but mostly just resigned. 

“That depends entirely on what you tell me about yourself.” As a trained interrogator, Garak was confident that he’d be able to spot truth from fabrication, no matter how small the tells might be.

Blank eyes stared up at him, the spirit already broken. “What do you want to know?”

“How about you start at the beginning.”

The Human stood up and brushed himself off. “Alright. But only if you let me out.”

Garak supposed there was no harm in that as long as he kept his eye on the young man. He relocated Julian to the nightstand. 

Seating himself on a folded kerchief, the story began. “I was a slow child. Years behind my peers. I’m not entirely certain if it was a processing or sensory disorder, or low IQ, or something else. But while all the other children were learning to read and write and use computers, I was still trying to figure out a cat from a dog, a tree from a house. My parents… struggled to deal with it. My father hated it. I can’t remember much about that time, just that he always seemed so… angry and disappointed.”

Garak could relate to that, almost too much. 

“At the age of six, they took me to Adigeon Prime. The doctors there gave me several treatments that manipulated my DNA to accelerate the neural growth in my cerebral cortex. They completely changed everything about me: my mental capabilities, my reflexes and coordination, probably my personality. Sad, dim, little Jules Bashir died, and,” he flung out his arms despondently, “Julian Bashir, child prodigy, was born. We spent the next several years moving from colony to colony as I outperformed peer group after peer group so that no one would ever get close enough to become suspicious. It wasn’t until I was 15 and correcting my teachers that I discovered what my parents had done.” 

Julian hugged himself. “It almost made things easier. I think it relieved them, because they could finally tell me why I shouldn’t show off too much. But even so, I joined Starfleet as soon as I could, just to get away. Not that it mattered. Just before graduation, they administered a blood screening, and a couple anomalies presented themselves. I was taken into custody that day.” He stood up and strode to the end of the nightstand. “They were going to lock me away in an institution. They were afraid I was dangerous, that I’d become the next Khan. It didn’t matter that I’d gone through medical school without an incident, that my friends and teachers all had excellent things to say about me. So I broke out of the holding room. Escaped.” He dropped his head. “I left Earth by bribing a shuttle captain and aimed for the farthest edge of the quadrant. You’re in possession of a Federation criminal.”


	5. Julian's Story Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brain broken, not writing, but I had this chapter saved up for such an occasion.
> 
> CW: mention of getting drugged and kidnapped

_Let it slide_   
_Let your troubles fall behind you_   
_Let it shine_   
_Until you feel it all around you_

Based on his training with the Obsidian Order, Garak had no doubt that the story he’d been told was true. But it was also far from over. “And after that?”

“I snuck around a lot. Moved from ship to ship, station to station. I traveled with traders and wanderers, explorers, even pirates. Slept in hostels or sometimes a person’s quarters, if they let me. Anywhere that didn’t require payment or a record of your presence. But I ran out of money.” 

Julian returned to the kerchief and sat back down. “I started gambling. It’s pretty easy, when you’ve got eidetic memory and the processing speed of early computers. I did pretty well for a while, but all it took was one night…” He frowned. “Someone must have slipped something in my drink. I remember feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach, and everything seemed to be moving too fast around me. I lost big. Most of my savings. I- I don’t know what happened exactly, except that someone seemed convinced I’d gambled _myself_ away. I woke up the next morning in chains and cuffs and was informed that I now belonged to a trader called Mezzme'kker. I don’t know if that was his name or his title, really.”

“I was sold from person to person for a week or so until some scientist from a race I didn’t recognize bought me for his lab. At first, I was just an assistant, and it was actually pretty nice. I learned a lot about various chemicals and alien plants, some engineering and technological design. But one night when he was sleeping, I came across some evidence that he was involved in several highly illegal and _immoral_ projects behind the scenes. He was raking in money selling biogenic weapons and animals for experimentation.” Julian covered his face. “I was an idiot. I confronted him about it. He stunned me, and by the time I came to the next morning…” He stood again and gestured from his head to his toes. “I was this tall and in a cage. I was auctioned off to the highest bidder, who barely kept me alive but brought me here, where Odo arrested him for all the contraband in his shuttle.”

“And the constable found you among the collection?”

“He found me _escaping_ the collection. Just a few more minutes and I would have been out of the shuttle and free.”

Garak repressed a chuckle. “‘Free’ is a relative term, my dear. You would have been lost inside the shuttle bay with no food, water, or shelter.” He hated to admit it, but “ Where you are now may have been your best option.” Bending over menacingly to emphasize their size difference, he asked pointedly, “Have you ever met a Cardassian vole?”

There was a tiny gulp. “No. I’m assuming they’re carnivores?”

“Oh yes. And about ten times your size. Terok Nor has several dozen nests of them. _Especially_ in the cargo, storage, and shuttle bays.”

Julian plopped down at the edge of the table and sat down, dangling his legs over the side. “You’re probably right that this is the safest place for me to be, then. And I should be more grateful for what you’ve done.” He ducked his head, then looked up earnestly. “Thank you, Mr. Garak. I- I’d like to shake your hand, except, it’d probably shake me.”

More charmed than he’d like to admit, the tailor offered up his index finger. The Human grasped it and shook up and down twice, firmly and business-like, despite his size.

“So.” Wide eyes surveyed the room. “What now?”


	6. Negotiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back :)

_And I don't mind  
If it's me you need to turn to  
We'll get by  
It's the heart that really matters in the end _

Seeing as Julian was still out and about, Garak changed into his nightclothes in the refresher while mentally rehashing the tragic backstory. He felt sorry for the Human to some degree, he really did, but this could also be a fantastic opportunity. Just think about all of the information on Starfleet that could be obtained! It would be no difficulty at all to draw confessions out of someone so tiny. And with what he learned, perhaps Central Command or the Obsidian Order could forgive Garak his past transgressions and let him return home. 

For the first time in too long, Garak felt hope.

His suppressed conscience nagged at him, arguing that surely poor Julian had endured enough already and that turning him over to the Cardassian authorities for torture and death was a rather heartless move. 

He ignored it.

There was a brief moment of panic when he returned to the bedroom and saw the empty nightstand. But it was quickly replaced with relief when he spotted a light shape on his dark sheets. Julian must have made a mighty leap to reach the bed. He was now hefting himself onto the doubled triangular pillow like it was the edge of a cliff he’d just conquered.

“Excuse me, but just what do you think you’re doing?”

Startled, Julian lost his hold and tumbled back down onto the mattress. “Oh. Um. Your bed is kind of hard. Not comfortable at all. I was curious if the pillow was any softer. Are you Cardassians like the Klingons? Do you think that sleeping on soft, squishy beds makes _you_ soft and squishy?”

“No, we just don’t feel the need to coddle ourselves. And if you’ll remember, you have your _own_ bed, which is a far sight more _soft and squishy_ than mine.”

“I know. I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to go back there.”

“You are most definitely going back there.”

Beguiling eyes peered up at him. “But do I have to go right now? What do you usually do before bedtime? Do you read?” Before Garak could stop himself, his eyes flicked over to the collection of isolinear rods on the shelf. “Are those books? What type? I mean, where are they from, and what genres? Are they all Cardassian? Fiction or nonfiction?”

Garak began to wish they were real books, just so he could swat the vocal Human into silence. 

But he also hadn’t had a companion to share his hobby with in a long time. “Most of them are Cardassian, yes. But I also have a few Vulcan and Romulan. Andorian. Klingon.”

“What do you read? Adventure? Mystery? Politics?”

Against his will, the tailor’s lips turned up into a smile. “A little of this, a little of that. I have what one might call _eclectic_ tastes.”

Tiny Julian beamed back. “Me too! I’ll read anything from medical journals to Vulcan poetry to Lurian genealogy legends. Even though those are sort of dry.” He started hopping across the blankets in the direction of the shelf. What did he think he was going to do once he reached the end of the bed, fly? “Let’s read something Cardassian. Seeing as I’m stuck on a Cardassian-occupied mining station and my host is a Cardassian, I’d love to learn more.”

Garak was struck from multiple sides by the statements that bubbled out of the Human. He was offended at the term “Cardassian-occupied mining station” (even if it was technically true), perplexed at suddenly being perceived as Julian’s host, and discomfited by the idea that if there was one weakness he had, it was people who loved to read and--even more--to learn. How could someone so seemingly insignificant whirl him about like that?

He chided himself. This creature might be barely taller than his ankle, but there was an unnaturally sharp brain contained within. It would be best that he stay on his toes in Julian’s company. “I never said we were reading anything at all.”

That didn’t daunt his companion in the least. “Please, Garak? You were probably going to anyway, right? I’ll just read next to you. I’m an awfully fast reader, so you wouldn't have to wait for me to finish paragraphs or anything. And I’ll be quiet. I promise. You won’t even know I’m there.”

That was a laugh. He’d either have to lean awkwardly to the side to share his screen or have Julian in his lap. There was no way his presence wouldn’t be noted.

But still. He did normally read before going to sleep. And even if Julian was in the terrarium, he’d see Garak doing so, and would probably pester him the entire time. “Alright,” he relented. “But it’s my choice.”


End file.
